Blood Debts
by peace and joyce
Summary: The war has yet to begin and yet to end. And the debts of blood demand to be paid. 20th century Wizarding Britain from after the end of the Grindelwald War to the end of the 2nd wizarding war. OC.
1. Foreword

Revenge is a tricksy thing. Long after the causes of them are dead, the grudges often live on. Nursed like children, they grow in the heart, displacing love and reason as they do so. When at last revenge is taken, it leaves a gap behind. Love and reason do not instinctively return to fill it.

The heart is a place where I have no power. Nor should I. Yet the sight of those enslaved by revenge almost makes me regret our powers of free will. To watch the unstoppable tide of revenge and pain and know that you stand before it like a swimmer in the face of a wave, no less powerless- but I have hope. We have survived through irreparable loss and tragedy before, too many times throughout our history. We can do it again. We must. It is what we do.

The First Wizarding War ended almost ten years ago and with it, the lives of far, far too many. They called it, as many Muggles called their first global war: "the war to end all wars." I fear that in both our cases, it is not so. I believed it myself, once. Before Grindelwald's War. It took me a long time, I admit, to learn the truth. Wars cannot end more wars. Only peace can do that. But a heart consumed by revenge has no time for peace. And so it goes on.

Now that the wizard few dared to call Voldemort; and even fewer his real name, has been defeated, (for now, at least. Can we really be so sure?) we all must look to the aftermath of his destruction. Many- but not all, of his known supporters have been arrested, tried and imprisoned. But there are those who say that was not enough. There is credit to their claims. Voldemort's inner circle cannot surely have been so small. I fear that we tore up the leaves, but not the roots hidden underground.

You cannot imprison people for their beliefs, or you give them the right to imprison you for yours. Many pureblood supremacists have, I suspect, cautiously kept their beliefs to themselves, guarded by silence. Such silence has not been cause for suspicion. They may not be silent forever.

The mind is the first and last battleground and our war has barely started on that front. We have a system which perpetuates supremacist beliefs, a system reluctant to admit fault within itself, for fear of mistrust and crumbling unity. Even as we fought against Voldemort, we did not fight to win. We fought his violence, but not always his doctrines. We could not. Some of us held them. And we needed their help.

For now, we are healing. That is most important. The longer we have to heal, the stronger we are for what comes next.

But unless we act both bravely and prudently, with wise leadership, good fortune and determination- it will be only a sticking plaster; and all Voldemort will have to do is come back and rip it off.

"Dark times are ahead" we say. "Dark times are behind, ahead and on every side." It can be said.

But there is a light. We are that light.

-Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

31st December 1990


	2. The Skull and the Snake

**DESIDERIUS**

_28th August 1967_

For the first time in his life, Dez had nothing funny to say.

So far, comic opportunities had been present at every turn. Bad marks at school, bad weather, bad weather at school, all had jokes waiting to be born. Whether the occasion called for sarcasm, self-deprecation (though he had always preferred the latter) or a touch of irony, nothing that had ever occurred in his life could not be disarmed by a smile, a chin up to the sky and a little joke. He realised then just how lucky he had been that life treated him this way, that he had treated life this way.

But what jokes could you make about this?

"Well," was all that Brendon Glendarach beside him could say. And then "Golly."

"Just what I was going to say." Desiderius did not take his eyes off the Mark, not even to turn to his friend.

It was a sickly green, this emblem which stamped the sky like it had burned its way onto the flesh of night. Perhaps it was meant to mimic a constellation, to symbolise an omen, a destiny fulfilled- and doomed. He rolled his eyes at himself, even now. _You've been reading too many of Marie's suspense novels. Soon you'll be seeing omens in your soup- oh look, a blob of turnip, I'll get good fortune now- oh no, scratch that, there's a carrot. I'm obviously therefore doomed to be eaten by a giant rabbit. Ah, the meatballs, so there'll be cloudy weather with a touch of frost. At which point my soup will go cold anyway._

"What d'you think it means?" Brendon whispered. Dez frowned and itched at his blue headband. His head wasn't actually itchy at all, but rubbing it reminded him that his headband was there and that was strangely comforting. He was never without it.

"Well- there's a giant snake coming out of the mouth of the skull, so maybe it's something to do with Slytherin-"

"Yes, a snake is the symbol of Slytherin House." Brendon clapped him lightly on the back. "Well noted. Hasn't changed in the last nine hundred years."

"Oh shut up. You want my interpretation of what it means, you'll get it. I never was any good at Divination. Had to drop it. So yeah. Snake, Slytherin. And skull- even I can tell that a skull isn't a good omen. Anyway, you're supposed to be the intuitive one. You say what it bloody well means."

"I wanted to hear your version first."

"We'll find out what it means any minute now." He pointed to the ruined house, where several more experienced members of the DMLE were scouting, checking for curses, making notes and taking pictures for the Aurors who would be surfacing later. As new employees, Brendon and Desiderius were here to gain yet more preliminary experience of field work. For now they had only the boring task of "standing guard" though Brendon had been quick to point out that if there was any real reason for them to have to stand guard to watch for danger, that danger would be so significant that inexperienced little ones like them wouldn't be much use. But red tape will have its way.

Dez looked at Brendon. It was easier than looking at the Mark. Something about the way the snake slid and curled from the mouth of the skull made him gag and choke. Brendon looked back. His eyes were the brown of the roasted chestnuts Marie loved to eat in winter.

"Not as handsome as I am in daylight," he joked.

Dez was about to cheekily retort that he was many things that he wasn't in daylight, but something about the atmosphere of this creepy place made him run, jump over the crumpled gate and straight into the house, past startled DMLE workers.

"Dez? Dez, what you going over there for?" Brendon called from behind him. "What you doing? Oh, why you can't just stay over here and be happy being useless!"

"You're the laziest Hufflepuff I know!" He yelled back.

"Excuse me? The laziest most SCOTTISH Hufflepuff, thank you! Don't you be going forgetting that!"

But Dez already had. Inside, the house was a wreck. The roof over the downstairs bathroom had collapsed, smashing the plumbing as it did so. Water licked at his feet; and the corpses lay in puddles of it like sopping sponges. It made him feel sick.

A young witch, less than half a decade older than himself, was leaning over one of the bodies. It took him half a minute to realise that the body's face had once been a face, it was so broken.

"Use of Slashing Curses," she murmured to nobody in particular. "Bones broken, several curses potentially the cause of that. Muscle and nervous tissue damage suggests Cruciatius."

Dez turned away quickly and walked into the living room.

"No sign of anything in here," said the woman inside who was moving to leave. But Dez wasn't so sure. He looked around. There were craters where spells had intended for there to be bodies. A chase. There was a chase. He stared at the three flying wooden ducks on the wall. His feet crunched on broken glass like teeth grinding together. Something had left long dragged scratch marks all along that one wall. That and the thought of teeth made him feel worse. Long plastic worms slithered out of the ceiling and spat copper wires. At one point he had to duck to avoid them.

There were some rusty looking stains on the curtains, as well as more curse marks on the sofa; and something in him seemed to be pulling him towards that window. Why can't I be like Brendon and just be happy getting away with as little paperwork as possible?

He gulped and forced himself to stay steady. Man up, he told himself. You're a Gryffindor for crying out loud. Pull it together.

"You might want to revise that earlier statement," he told her.

"What?"

"There's another body." He pointed. "Behind the sofa." She was so small, the little girl pressed around the back of the sofa that had he not come right around he might have missed her. Her braided hair was blond and matted with blood and water into one thick soggy lump.

Was that more blood on her face or just freckles? Freckles, he wanted them to be freckles. The freckled face was turned at an awkward angle towards the window as if looking at what might have been if she'd escaped. His gaze followed her fight, checking her wounds as he went, followed from the necklace that streaked silver across her neck until the chain broke, down to her shoulders, to where her black dress had been smeared with dust to what was lying inches from her hand-

"You might want to see this," he called.

"See what?" Brendon was by his side.

"Look," he gestured at the long wand that pointed at him, pointed at him to find out the truth- "this one's a witch."

Brendon's big mouth flopped open. There had been Muggle hunts the past few months particularly, they came and went over the years. But this was the first time a wand-carrier had been killed in years. The first time this weird mark was seen. Dez had the sudden, very real idea that this Mark was specially created. That it meant that there would be more of these killings. Someone was trying to tell them something.

"This one's a kid."

"I know that." He looked back around the room. "She couldn't have been able to Apparate, she's too young and the rest of them here are definitely all Muggles- you can tell by their kitchen, they've got all them Muggle thingies. She must have known she wouldn't be able to escape. So she hid behind this sofa for a shield." He pointed at the curse marks. "Tried to fight her way out."

"But there's a window right there," Brendon said. "Why'd she stay and fight if she could have run?"

He looked out of the window. "There must have been more of them out there," he realised, a rock rolling in his stomach, gathering up fear like a snowball running down a hill. "Merlin's pants. The house must have been surrounded by them."

"But if they knew they'd killed a witch, why leave her body there? Why not run off with it and destroy it or take her wand?"

"Maybe she's not a witch at all. Maybe they just shoved a wand in her hand and made it look like she was-" Dez didn't want to believe it.

"Look, her hand's shaped so that it must have fallen out when she was killed. If they had enough time to mould her stiffening hand to look like that, they had enough time to-"

"Why are we even talking about this?!" Dez shouted. "It makes no sense! She's dead, Brendon! Dead!"

"We can't help her." Brendon put a hand on Dez's shoulder but he shook it off. "Marie will be able to find out who she is and whether the wand is hers. And if it is-"

"I'll bet it is." Dez hated to be a pessimist about it, but he saw no other way.

"Then that's not good- this- this isn't a random Muggle killing spree that we have to clean up after the bastards have run off. It's targeted. Targeted by that thing." He pointed out off the window up at the Mark.

"Brendon..."

"yeah?"

"Since you're here, who's guarding outside?"


	3. No Badges

**CANDYCE**

_1st September 1967_

The moment the Sorting Hat touched her head, it felt like a coronation. Almost all the eyes in the Hall were upon her, except for the odd few scattered around the hall who were probably distracted. Candy did not resent them, it had been a long process and she supposed the novelty for some wore off after _G._

Not for her, of course. She had listened patiently as one by one her year group had each had their turn under the omniscient brim of the Hat, wondering who might be her housemates in an hour- no, less than an hour's time. She had held her hands loosely together in front of her, to keep them from shaking, though when she noticed that the dwindling number of people before her in the queue was getting really quite small she held them tighter. _I must not make a mess of things, _she had instructed herself. How many times she had practiced this moment over the summer, practiced her walk to the stool, sweeping her skirt under her so as not to crumple it, feet placed exactly next to each other; and whether she was moving to sit down, sat, or moving to get up- back straight. Merlin forbid her to slouch. Placing her own hat gently on her head and then getting up steadily once the hat was off and walking towards the nearest empty spot at what would hopefully- surely, be the Slytherin Table.

She knew it would be rude and disrespectful to chide the hat, tell it to hurry up, but she struggled more than she should have to resist the temptation. It seemed to be taking far too long, though it had only been sat on her head a few seconds. Candy thought she could feel the impassive stare of Professor Dumbledore behind her, but it would be unthinkable to turn around to see for sure.

"Slytherin!" Don't let your shoulders drop with relief! This moment was not yet over. She measured her smile, to keep it modest and rose carefully off the stool. Her shoes squeaked slightly on the floor, but thankfully the noise was drowned out by the cheers and applause of the Slytherins.

My home. My people. To her surprise, she did not have to look for an empty space: one was made for her. She sat down next to the girl she recognised as Black, Narcissa and when Candy looked up again she met the heavy-lidded gaze of a tall girl whose black glossy hair just tottered on the edge of wildness.

"Bellatrix Black," the girl said, still not taking her eyes off Candy's face. Her brief smile was welcoming yet haughty, as though to tell Candy that she was lucky to be sitting here. _I am, _she silently agreed. _We all are. _

"Candyce Nott," she replied. She held out her hand. Bellatrix nodded, but didn't shake it, although Narcissa did say "oh, all right then," and shook it in a quite friendly manner.

"I haven't forgotten your name, obviously, you were only Sorted just now," Bellatrix said curtly.

"Bella!" Narcissa cried.

"I can say whatever I like to first years."

"It's quite alright, I merely hoped to get the business of formal introduction settled." Bellatrix Black was rude, ruder than a Pureblood should be, yet she carried herself with a lazy confidence instilled in her through years of pride in her ancestry, Candy could tell.

"Well, you've got it." Bellatrix toyed with her goblet. Someone further down the bench shushed them and she rolled her eyes. Candyce bashfully went back to watching the Sorting. Foolishly she had quite forgotten about it. As Popyngcart, Io made her way to the Ravenclaw Table, Candy happened to turn her head and catch the eye of a girl all the way across the Hall. The girl beamed at her, the same beam she had worn when the Hat had been placed on her head and assigned "Graham, Hara" to "Gryffindor!"

Candy herself had not shared her joy and had to discreetly look away when the girl bounded off to her house table knocking over the stool in the process. Four centuries old, that stool, if Bathilda Bagshot was not mistaken; and to think she had knocked it over like it was any other chair. Half blood, she guessed- such slapdash behaviour was to be expected from them. No respect for history. Though she should have at least gone back, apologised and picked it up. Leaving Professor McGonagall to do it was shameful.

And so Candyce did not return her smile, but merely nodded and turned back to the sisters.

"How many mudbloods do you suppose are in our year?" Narcissa asked Candy.

"Too many," replied Bella sharply before Candy had the chance to answer.

"Quite a few purebloods of distinguished note though," she countered. "Yourself not least among them, Narcissa."

"Do we _have _to talk politics now?" The younger girl complained, resting her head on her folded arms, giving those present ample view of her immaculately styled blonde hair.

"You brought it up," reminded the girl on Narcissa's side who could only be another sisters. "I was perfectly happy not to talk of it at all. The way Aunt Walburga goes on about it, you'd think it's all she ever thinks about."

"Walburga Black?" Candy said at once, forgetting that the Black girls would have no other Aunt Walburga. "She is a great and noble lady, I have heard. One of the true pureblood witches of her generation."

"One of the true pureblood bores of her generation, certainly." Andromeda yawned lazily as if to emphasise her point.

A hush grew across the hall and at first Candy thought that somehow they had all heard Andromeda's controversial response, but Professor Dumbledore was rising from his seat.

"Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts, whether it is your first, last or somewhere in between. Argus Filch would like to remind you all of all the rules he wants, wanted and will want you all to remember in years past present and future. As to the recent controversial rule change that some have advocated within the Ministry of Magic regarding the necessity of Muggleborn students to wear badges at all times proclaiming their blood status-"

At this point everyone, including Candyce, leaned forward towards him just a little bit, as if to stretch out to the truth he was about to tell them.

"-It will not be adopted, implemented or otherwise enforced for as long as I am Headmaster of this school. A student's Blood Status has no more influence on their learning than their favourite Quidditch team, their favourite colour or what kind of cabbage they feed to their pets. You all have earned your right to an education here and until you breach our greatest rules, by your conduct and your conduct alone, it is our duty to provide for the education we know you need. You have as much right to learn as any other student; and as much duty to being willing to be taught. And finally, I leave you these words to ponder: why is a raven like a writing desk?"

And with that bizarre finishing note, his speech was over. Candyce wasn't sure what she felt in response to it- mostly disappointment. She had heard that Dumbledore was this great wizard, though her own parents had never had a good word to say about him. But he seemed so far merely to be an old wizard who dressed like a show-off and talked like he was half-mad. What had ravens and writing desks to do with anything?

He is a Gryffindor, she reminded herself. And leadership is a trait Slytherin House Sort for. Perhaps his informed greatness would become apparent in time, or perhaps he was as she feared simply overrated and far inferior to any number of purebloods who could take his place.

"Well pass me the sick bowl," Bellatrix Black remarked sarcastically. "His Sermon was short at least, I'll give him that."

"What do you think he meant about the ravens?" Candy asked her curiously. "I have no idea, myself."

"Probably something to do with mudbloods; and about how we all should bow down and kiss their feet because they're so special just because their parents make house elves look intelligent." Bellatrix snorted. "Mudbloods this, mudbloods that. Come on Cissy?, you said you wanted to see the Slytherin dormitories."

"Oh, are we going there now?" Narcissa was all but jumping up and down.

"Of course we are. You coming?"

Candy had been staring at the emeralds inside Slytherin's House Points vessel. Each one was at least several times the size of the one in her mother's ring. She imagined watching them flow from one glass to the other, maybe because she herself would earn House Points. She resolved to try and make that happen as soon as possible. For her House's sake, not her own.

"Oh, yes. I'm coming now."

As she turned back to leave the Hall, she thought she saw the Graham girl again, but hers would just be another head floating like driftwood on a growing sea.

Slytherin Common Room was more beautiful than she could ever have dreamed. The years in this place seemed to flow gently through her like the drifting of the waves of the lake across the room. Some of the other first years looked discomforted by the idea of living and sleeping underground, under the lake like they were dwelling in some watery tomb, yet it only made Candyce feel more relaxed. Here, surrounded by the foundations of the castle, by its oldest walls, history was watching over them all.

She wanted to run her hands across the black leather spines of the books on the shelves, gaze into the fire that made different sorts of waves flow across the common room, almost in rivalry with the waters above, to find a preferred spot, probably in a corner. But there would be time enough for that later.

Narcissa's bed was opposite her own; and Candyce watched as the other girl busied herself with unpacking the trunk waiting for her. A silver backed hairbrush, a bottle of scent, lipstick, romance novels with marbled covers. Her bedside table looked more like that of a grown lady than a twelve year old girl; and Candy's seemed meagre in comparison, but she did not mind. She slowly unwrapped her green blown glass water jug and matching cup and placed them on the side. Her mother had always said that a proper lady should have a glass of water ready in case she was ever thirsty in the night and now Candyce filled her jug from a bottle ready for her first night here.

The bed was unfamiliar of course and so felt strange at first, but she relaxed into it. The curtains were drawn; and yet it was already so dark inside the room it didn't seem to make much difference. Candyce had never feared snoring until now. What if she woke everyone up? That surely would not be a good start. Candy knew enough about human nature to know that tired people quickly become grumpy people. She had never snored before, but perhaps all the magic in this place might make her? After all, she had never heard of a Muggle snoring.

When she heard distant, soft snuffles, she relaxed again. She could find out in the morning. She could find out everything in the morning.

When she woke up tomorrow, her world would be waking with her.


End file.
